


Rev Up Your Engines

by HecoHansen31



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Heart Trobles, Misogyny, Troubled Family, mention of dementia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecoHansen31/pseuds/HecoHansen31
Summary: Having a rival such as Ivarr can be the worst nightmare for many, even more for you, who seems to be his latest prey outside of the circuit.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Rev Up Your Engines

Women in sports were only welcomed in two ways: silent or in bikinis.

And you weren’t in neither of the positions.

You were actually in the worst position for a woman in a sport like ‘MotoGP’.

You were the daughter of a stable owner, having inherited the whole stable after your father’s heart problems had obliged him to stay behind.

Your hands were already hands in the family business, operating through a more secluded area, mostly in the social media market, when your father had asked you to take care of his beloved stable, the thing that had always brought him away from you.

And you had taken it onto yourself.

Although you barely knew anything about the dangerous sport.

You had at first tried your best through informing about all the important things of the sport, although your researches had been mostly done by yourself, because the team wasn’t very cooperative, even more after you had shown your interest in the more practical side of it.

Everybody expected you just to sign checks and party with the pilots.

So, when you had suggested innovations to both the team and the bikes, you had been met with weirded out eyes and annoyed dismissals.

And you had to admit that the whole thing was heavy on you, who had never liked the whole biking panorama, mostly because although your father had been thoroughly a fan of it, you had grown with your mother, separated by a father that spent more time at the stables than at home and eventually this had brought your mother to exhaustion, making her run away when you were barely fifteen and you had been left to raise yourself on your own.

Still, ignoring your obvious disinterest, you had done everything in order to pass the winter tests and present yourself with a powerful team of mechanics and a duo of young but promising riders, coming to the first competition with hopes and expectations, just to get your idiotic riders to crash into each other.

And you had been greeted with the laughing of all the other teams on the team radio.

To say that you were displeased it was an euphemism and you had almost thought of seriously leaving the reigns of everything to the whole mechanic team, but eventually you had just tightened your teeth and got your idiotic riders to collaborate, through threats and small smiles.

And eventually you had set yourself to become fourth in the ‘constructors’ championship’, something that wasn’t bad, in the slightest, even more because your father, in the latest years, had always hung lower in the gradings…

… but as you had slowly started to raise in the motosport climate, you had soon understood that it wasn’t simply your own team who didn’t like your presence, but also others…

… more specifically the team that was in third place in the constructors’ championship: the Lothbrock.

It was also a family-established stable, the sons having inherited it from their father, but unlike you, they weren’t only an all-male group, but also they had stuck on the circuits for much more time than you, not only having more experience, but also having more complicity with the whole team.

Ragnar Lothbrock had created the team with the few money he had received from his own father, siding with a bigger stable, and eventually growing to fame and success as he gained slowly more and more freedom, which lead to him creating his own independent stable.

His sons had inherited it after his untimely death and if what their father had done was extraordinary, what they did was miraculous and extremely fulfilling, although they hadn’t yet won a championship, unlike their father.

Not to talk about the fact that Hvitserk, one of the youngest brothers, rode on the satellite team, ‘Lothbrock: The White Tire’.

They were highly competitive, even more because exactly like you, in their father’s late years they had lost much of the prestige for their own stables, although as of lately they had come to good places both in the riders’ championship and the constructors’.

All of this had been obtained under the lead of the youngest brother, Ivar, covering the same position as of you, in the team, setting himself apart from his brothers, and being the most competitive, although in a very non-sportive way.

And as of lately his focus had ended up on your own team.

Which was an obvious choice since you were the ones that were the closest to them and had one of your riders ended up on the podium the following week, you would have passed them, catching the third place.

So, flashforward to the following week, and right as you were partying for your first rider’s third place, champagne all over your clothes, you had been asked to follow the security to the commission, because that your rider’s podium was actually being discussed.

‘Your rider ended up on the green’ had tried to explain to the member of the staff, who had come to you to give you the bad news, as they passed you a piece of paper with a written complain.

Signed by the Lothbrocks.

‘I do know of that, but…’ you had shot back, already red from anger, as a few of the spokespeople of your team came near to you, trying to ease up with diplomacy the whole discourse ‘… he fucking got pushed by the Lothbrock driver’.

You knew perfectly that the rules required for the pilot who ended up on the green to lose a position, but at the same time the FIM had allowed your pilot to reach the podium with no complain.

And it was justified since the Lothbrock driver had basically thrown his front bike against your own, without any solicited contact.

Which had made them end up in the green.

They should be actually the one under investigation for having irresponsible driving.

‘… we are sorry, but you’ll still need to come to the headquarters immediately’.

But you had had to take a bit of time to scream in a bag, not wanting to ruin your riders’ party, and once you were halfway done with your breakdown, Cameron, your head of the mechanics, came to you and tried to calm you down, explaining that you hadn’t any fault in this.

‘I just fucking hate Ivar Lothbrock’ you had muttered, as you swiftly changed your dirtied team-shirt with a new one, in order not to give to your mortal enemy any reason to doubt you or challenge you, at the meeting ‘… why do you have to fucking try every dirty trick in the book, when you could spend the same time getting your fucking bike to be better?’.

‘We don’t all get a team manager with a brain’ had commented the man, softly smiling at you, because there wasn’t much he could do, in such a situation.

But you’d definitely report the incorrect behavior of the stables to the FIM.

‘… just breath calmly’ Cameron had then suggested softly ‘… don’t attack him and don’t lower yourself to his dirty tricks. We know we weren’t at fault for doing that, the FIM ruled it out, they are just being annoying’.

‘… more like assholes’ you uttered under your breath.

But in the end, there wasn’t much you could do, except being calm and talk quietly in order to get the FIM to realize that the Lothbrocks’ pretenses were solely abusing their time.

But as you stepped in, facing Ivar Lothbrock’s annoying arrogant smirk, you were halfway through having a hard time stopping yourself from hitting him square in the face.

‘… you were making us wait’ he simply commented almost as a justification for his shit face, as he crossed his arms over his chest, already plopped in his chair meanwhile behind him stood his older brother, Ubbe, looking as happy to be there as you.

‘… sorry your Majesty’ you muttered, gaining an harsh look from the team manager, although it was laced with surprise, because as soon you’d catch him looking at you or trying to stir up a fight, you’d back off, ignoring him.

He wasn’t used to you answering him.

‘… I was partying with my pilot’ you added just for the extra burn.

‘Congrats…’ he uttered, as impressed with you as he was with the dirt beneath his nails.

‘Gentleman and…’ the FIM inspector assigned to your case recalled you order “… lady”.

You sat down, keeping your gaze on whatever was in front of you, not wanting to give Ivar the satisfaction of even letting him bother you.

‘… Mrs. (L/N), you have already received a preview of why we have asked you to come here, but I’d like to explain it to you again’.

Oh Gosh, didn’t you love some ‘mansplaining’?

As if you hadn’t read the regulations yourself, consulting yourself with your own pilots and a team of experts.

‘I do know that it is against the rules to go through the green side, and that if a pilot do end up on it on the last lap, they lose a position…’ you retorted quickly, not wanting to lose any ground you stood on ‘… but my pilot didn’t go on the green, he was pushed in it… by Mr. Lothbrock’s pilot. You can obviously see it…”.

“That’s a whole other process” commented harshly the FIM inspector, sending you a glare that said clearly to stick to what you knew and not interfere with this.

But you were fucking pissed.

Even more when Ivar looked like he was extremely pleased with the FIM inspector’s behavior

“It isn’t a completely different process, but…” you tried to protest “… it is easy actually: hadn’t my pilot been pushed he wouldn’t have been thrown on the green. You didn’t rule him out of the third place after the race was finished, why would you do it now?”.

Because it was Ivar who protested.

And because you were an easy prey.

You were the one thing man like the FIM inspector didn’t want between their feet: a woman.

One in power and with many questions.

You could seem completely paranoid.

But had the same thing happened to Ivar, none of these questions would have been sent his way.

“My pilot was trying to overtake yours, the push was accidental” commented Ivar, probably because he had felt like he had been called out by your words, sending the FIM investigator an innocent look as if to say ‘you are crazy if you thought I did it on purpose’.

“… even if it was…” your whole tone seemed completely disbelieving of Ivar’s affirmation “… my pilot didn’t go on the green on purpose”.

“But he ended up on it” muttered the FIM inspector, something that you couldn’t deny, since the cameras of the stewards had caught “… and we have to be stricter with these rules, many have been daring more and more… and it won’t take much before this sport will end up being dangerous than it needs to be”.

“… it has already happened and you weren’t as severe with it as with me, although the pilots used it to their advantage” you muttered, feeling some kind of desperation cursing through you “…in moto 2, there was a similar thing happening and Martin, who went on his own in the green, wasn’t penalized”.

The whole situation was starting to be unbelievable and very much heavy on you, not solely for the fact that being diminished by the inspector in front of everybody was pretty humiliating (and to add something to it, the whole act being witnessed by a smirking Ivar Lothbrock didn’t help) but you couldn’t help but be heartbroken solely at the thought of letting your pilots know that they’d have to step down the podium.

Many would have thought it was a simple sacrifice, but they didn’t know the competition between all the pilots, but also all the sacrifices they made on their own to train to be the best of the best.

“… it’s moto 2” it didn’t seem in the slightest a justification to you, but you had noticed that fighting didn’t help, and neither did calm words or retorting ones “… we’ll announce it, tonight, this way you’ll be able to warn your pilots, and he’ll have to give back the trophy…”.

You had to say that your mind had zeroed after that affirmation, as your eyes found the satisfied ones of Ivar, slowly pushing himself up to talk with his older brother, Ubbe, probably expressing to him his happiness at having managed to make your stable keep your previous position.

Fourth, behind them.

But worse, you felt like a child being reprimanded in front of somebody that you hated.

An embarrassed shade of red coated your cheeks, but you endured it, making a mental note to require another FIM inspector to analyze the case, preferably not a misogynistic idiot.

After the reunion was over the FIM inspector dismissed you and Ivar.

The man immediately raised himself up a bit slowly, to set himself up on his crutches, helped by his brother, although he looked annoyed by the unwanted help.

He had been born with a genetic problem that made the bones in his legs brittle, a big disappointment for a father that had not only been a biker, but also had pushed his sons in the game as soon as they could walk.

So, part of you knew and understood Ivar’s bitterness and his desperate desire to prove his late father wrong, expanding his legacy.

You knew yourself how heavily a dynasty could hang on a child’s shoulder,

But this didn’t allow him to fucking destroy you to simply build yourself up.

You stood after him a few seconds later, seeing and witnessing his strength as he pushed himself on the braces and crutches he wore and trying to still your whole body so it wouldn’t tremble from rage once you got up.

You had to admit that Ivar was as beautiful as he was cunning and you weren’t surprised to know that the whole Lothbrock clan had admirers everywhere, having become a meme on the net, almost like a band with their own groupies.

He had beautiful tormented blue eyes, something that was common among the brothers, but his were definitely the most gorgeous, hauntingly active, unlike Ubbe’s matching glance, annoyed and tight, polite but in no way as firey as Ivar.

You would have loved to have him as a competitor.

But not this way.

And this was enough for you to raise yourself, as you strutted out, having a pilot to inform and a few interesting things to say to the journalists, who had already started filling your own stand.

But before you could do anything, Ivar’s hand shot out to you, hooking itself on your wrist, something that made you turn around extremely fast, hitting the man on the hand which held your hand, the grip loosening itself as he made a few steps backwards.

Probably because you looked like you could have burned him alive, on the spot.

“… I just…” whatever evil thing he wanted to say seemed stuck on his tongue.

“I have a pilot to inform” you muttered immediately, as you exited his grip and moved to turn around, just to have a brilliant idea and turning around for the last word.

Because he might have won the battle...

… but he hadn’t won the war yet.

“I fucking work with my team, instead of using dirty tricks for my own bidding”.

You had many times accused Ivar of using ‘dirty tricks’, but everytime it had been concealed between nice and soft words, the ones you used with the press, avoiding cursing and smirking the whole time to make the accusals seem more a joke.

You almost expected Ivar to reply something mean as you exited the building, but he simply looked like he had lost any ability to talk, his brother behind him having to shake him lightly to get him to react and right when he opened his mouth again to speak, you were gone.

It was better not to waste your words on a crook.

The news of your pilot being dropped from second to third place had been the scandal of the whole following week, which you had spent in a small island in Greece to relax a bit, you had come back home to journalists storming your house.

‘I can’t make any comments’ because you had been warned not to, since a second investigation was in place, although Christian, your first pilot, had had to already give back the trophy already ‘… we’ll see and I am hopeful that the right choices will be made’.

Which meant that you hoped the Lothbrock would push back the appeal.

They had also been stormed with journalists and attack.

Although the FIM inspector hadn’t had much interest for your version, the media had been actually very interested in hearing your own side of the story, alongside the fact that the audience cheered for your squad since it was ‘a true underdog story’.

You had built a team from scratch after years of failures and you were swiftly raising to the Olympus of bikes.

Ivar’s reply had been the same of yours, just shorter and colder, and the Lothbrocks had chosen to make him disappear from the latest posts on their social medias, instead pushing forwards his brother, who had been scoring a lot of points in the latest race, although the satellite team was much slower than the official squad.

But it was a win.

And it had made you regain the strength to face Ivar again the following week.

But you had had another big storm coming for you.

Your own father.

You had a complex relationship to your father: you obviously loved him, but you knew the feelings weren’t reciprocated

Your father hadn’t ever made you miss anything, except love.

You knew it could be worse, but to this day you found it difficult to face your father.

Even more when it happened in front of your mortal enemy.

Your father had been already in the stables when you had arrived, after releasing an official message about the sanction you had been undergoing for the last race’s ending.

He had been talking with your engineers, as you entered, everybody looking as uncomfortable as you, exchanging small talk with the man, although he immediately pushed for more information on the technical side of stuff.

Your pilots looked bewildered and with an annoyed smirk you simply tried to catch your father’s attention, to bring him away from the garage, this way the engineers could work in peace.

But you didn’t arrive halfway through the box that he was already vocally attacking you.

“Where the fuck are Trenner and Lobon?” asked your father, as you grimaced.

“… you have actually fired them two years ago” you muttered.

Your father’s heart problems hadn’t been the only reason why it had been suggested to him to slow down, but he had started showing signs of dementia.

He had forgotten your name the day you had come to visit him in the hospital and even worse, he had asked the names of pilots that had been in your stables, years ago.

“… I shouldn’t have…” he looked shocked as he always did when you revealed to him that he had forgotten something, which you did graciously, having discussed with his doctor about the trauma that acting like that might cause him “… do you think they are still on the market?”.

“They are retired, dad” again, calm tone and sweet words “… but what are you doing here? You should be at home, relaxing”.

“I heard the shit the Lothbrock threw on us” Gosh, you should have told his nurse to stop letting him see TV, even more the sport section “… what the fuck have you been doing in my stables?”.

His disappointment hung heavily on you and it stole your breath for a minute, but you regained your coolness immediately.

“I have been trying to do my best and we have reached new heights” again your tone was attentive and careful, slow and peaceful, but the end of it had an exasperated note and your father sent you an annoyed look.

He was clearly thinking that you were an undisciplined child.

Not that the undisciplined child was actually him.

“… the Lothbrocks have been playing dirty” you said it with your voice on low, since the garage next to you were the Lothbrocks’ ones, and you knew that many eyes were set on you “… I have the medias on my side, don’t worry dad”.

“Instead I fucking worry!” now the attention was definitely on you.

And with the side of your eye you noticed that Ivar was coming up right now, an earpiece in his hands showing that he hadn’t been aware of the convo till right now.

You tried to usher your father, lightly pushing him away to try to bring him away from all this attention.

“Too much of anything, you never know how to quit” uttered your father loudly, again, but he lost the second part of the discourse, lightly, his eyes shifting on Ivar who was suddenly close to you, probably trying to get pass the crowd of journalists.

Stealing a bit more of info and trying to pass unnoticed.

But your father’s eyes caught onto him quickly.

Changing completely attitude as he approached the man.

Although now you couldn’t deny that Ivar now, up closer, and under your father’s watchful gaze looked much younger than you had perceived him.

And definitely blushier.

“Lothbrock, fuck you are grown” commented your father, as you gently tried to catch his hand, playing the devout daughter’s part, as you tried to get him to shift away from Ivar.

Nobody knew about your father’s dementia and you tried to keep it away from the flashes of paparazzi, since it’d get many investors to back off and you needed them for at least this season.

Then had you proved your worth, you could have handled your father’s dementia publicly.

“… Mr (L/N)” Ivar called out to your father, smiling brightly although it was obvious he’d like to continue his trip “… it’s nice to see you again, we thought about you…”.

“Don’t bullshit me, boy” you hated your father’s presence, but you had to admit that seeing Ivar back off from his usual arrogant attitude was a bonus “… I know you fucking took advantage of it, but I am back to fucking stay”.

You stopped yourself from rushing your eyes to sky because if there was one place your father would go to immediately after this conversation, would be the medical center.

His heart was still weak, and he would just bother the mechanics.

And his demeaning behavior made you extremely uncomfortable.

You hadn’t had to take on his stables, after his sickness had made it impossible for him to handle it firsthand.

You had accepted because you thought it’d make him happy and proud of you.

But now his disappointment was heavy on you.

You weren’t certainly the best, but it had been years since the team had been stuck in the midfield and you were slowly bringing yourself to exit it, coming towards the fourth and third place.

If you couldn’t obtain his appreciation and respect through doing this, there wasn’t much you could do.

“… tell your father… tell Ragnar, that we are coming for the podium this time” your eyes opened completely, and you couldn’t deny that your hands started shaking, at your father’s obvious show of his lacking health.

You rushed to try to cover his phrase, but Ivar smiled softly at the man, something that you had to admit didn’t make him look like some kind of dangerous snake anymore and you smirked softly at that, returning the smile, with no intention to.

“… I’ll tell him, but we won’t let it go that easily” his voice was full of playful competition and you wondered where the heck was this guy when you were fighting for the podium, instead of the spiteful athlete you had been meeting constantly “… have a nice day, Mr. (L/N) and (Y/N)”.

And then he moved off, making you aware that he hadn’t ever said your name, till now.

And it sounded strangely so beautifully from his lips.

“That fucking wanker” commented your father as he went away, right as you remembered the assholish behavior he had always had with you.

And that now he knew about your father.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

You had been basically just laying face down on your hotel bed since you had come back.

Your father had been actually joined by his nurse, after you had found him in the paddock, and they’d be staying just for the qualifying set-ups and then see the game from home, since you didn’t want to have to worry about him and the pilots, at the same time.

He had actually gotten to know them and being surrounded by the whole atmosphere had helped calm him down, alongside his nurse knowing how to deal with him.

The entire situation still managed to make you worry, but you had been able to focus on FP1 and FP2.

FP3 and qualifying looked like they’d be stressing, but you had just received the news that the problematic of the previous race had been resolved with a win for you, and soon your pilot would be having back his trophy, and your team would regain the point.

You were officially back on top of the Lothbrocks.

And strangely you hadn’t heard anything from them.

Which was worrying.

Even more now that Ivar had officially witnessed your father’s conditions.

You were already expecting a sanction of having made him come in the garage although he wasn’t on the list of the people allowed inside of it.

So, you were just waiting and trying to ease all the anxiety in your body.

There were so many things that could go wrong.

So, you weren’t surprised when you heard a knocking on the door.

You were surprised when it turned out to be Ivar Lothbrock.

Your first reaction was to almost slam the door, but you held it quickly, knowing perfectly that there were many journalists in the same hotel and it was already scandalous that your open rival was visiting you.

Outside of the paddock.

“What do you want?” it wasn’t laced with annoyance but genuine curiousness, because you couldn’t find many reasons why Ivar would be here.

If he wanted to complain about the fact that you had gained the upper hand in the investigation, he could have reported it to the FIM, not to you.

“… were all the FIM investigators finished?” you muttered, now true sarcasm in your eyes “… and they decided to send you for some fucking idiotic claim, again”.

“I actually came here to apologize” the words seemed to burn on his tongue.

And you were again startled by the fact that he had just done something that you never thought you’d see him doing.

“… what?” you asked, sure of not having heard right.

“I didn’t realize that my behavior towards you was this offensive…” you didn’t understand the change of heart, hence you regarded Ivar as a dangerous beast ready to eat you up, had you lowered your attention “… I might have exaggerated”.

“Erase the ‘might’ “you weren’t able to stop yourself from the pure sarcasm in your reply.

“I have exaggerated my competitiveness against you”.

You didn’t honestly know what to say, simply settling up on torturing your bottom lip, as you bit it to try to keep your face in a calm expression, although you didn’t know whether you should be careful with what you said, assuming this was some kind of proof.

Or you should have just laughed at his face.

Either ways seemed very tempting.

“… I just came here to apologize” he repeated shooting you a look as if to understand your expression, probably because he expected it to be some kind of relief.

You blessing him with accepting his apologies.

“I don’t care” it was the words that you found more fitting for the entire thing “… I can’t even believe you”.

Ivar looked, in that moment, like he might have eaten the sourest of fruits that he was ever given, and he lightly bit off his own bottom lip, before lightly swiping his finger across it and nodding his head.

“… I understand it” he didn’t seem to, but you didn’t say anything more “… I just thought that I’d try my luck”.

“… and I hope that you won’t say anything about my father” you knew that uttering out what you just said might have been dangerous but Ivar looked like he was under a train because you hadn’t accepted his apologies.

“Don’t worry, in the slightest” he replied, raising his hand in front of himself “… I don’t mean to tell anybody”.

Which reassured you greatly, although you didn’t trust Ivar fully.

And you were halfway through pushing the door in his face, when he continued on talking.

“… I actually…” he looked as uncomfortable as you, but strangely you couldn’t bring yourself to close the door in his face.

It must have been because of those puppy dog blue eyes.

“… when did it start?”.

“The heart problems started it” the doctors had also explained to you that your father had been undergoing a rather stressful period that had brought both the problems to speed up during the years, eventually destroying both his heart and mind.

“Shit” muttered Ivar, and you honestly didn’t understand why he wanted to talk about this.

Was he seriously thinking of gaining as much info as he could and then sell you over to the medias?

Because it would have just resulted in a loss for him.

“… yeah, we are in big shit” you repeated “… I am trying to keep it hidden from the investors, since I know they wouldn’t trust my lead”.

Again, that light bite of lips and Ivar lowered his eyes to his feet, something that convinced you that maybe just maybe… he was hiding his own emotions.

“… when my dad died, the investors all left us and went to Lagertha’s side, we almost had to sell it to her” commented Ivar and you couldn’t help but be surprised, because the Lothbrocks had always been one of the best stables, both for the money and for the pilots.

You did know that Lagertha’s stables, ‘The Shieldmaiden’, their rivals, had been having quite the fight with the Lothbrocks, but you hadn’t ever thought it was rooted that far.

And this time you weren’t able to keep your face straight and Ivar probably recognized the surprise on your face.

“… it was all over the magazines”.

“I don’t read that shit” you had stopped since they had critiqued you.

You didn’t want to be held back by critiques or false information about your private life, in your work.

You had always grown up with the constant pressure of what others would say about you, because you were your father’s daughter and now that you had to come onto your own reputation, you would have done everything in your power to build it.

Instead of listening to what others created.

“I might have been wrong about you” commented Ivar, and you couldn’t deny that strangely it seemed almost like a compliment, on the mouth of the arrogant boy.

“Did you peg me for some kind of vain spoiled brat?” and strangely a smile came onto your face.

Becoming even bigger when Ivar blushed lightly.

“… I left out the ‘spoiled’ part out”.

You couldn’t stop the laugh on your lips.

“Well, I still think that you are an entitled asshole”.

“You are not the first one to think that for sure”.

And before you knew it you were both laughing loudly.

Enough to attract a few fellow guests of the hotel that sent you annoyed looks.

Something that made you move closer to hide yourself behind the door.

Although your exchange with Ivar was completely innocent, you knew that the press would have turned it all around.

“… I know this might be… I know that you might have better things to do than listen to an entitled prick…”.

“I said ‘asshole’ “ you shot back, as Ivar’s severe face turned into a smirk.

“… ok sorry… but would you like to come and take out a coffee? It’s on me for last Sunday’s dirty trick”.

You breathed out heavily.

Everything in you itched to reply a happy ‘yes’, but your whole body wanted for you to be attentive and to act in the best way possible.

Because what Ivar proposed might have been a dangerous trap.

But you were just exhausted from acting like you had a broom up your ass.

And you had to admit that you felt like Ivar probably felt the same.

He had clearly opened about the problematics after his father’s death.

And in case it was a coffee less to bother about.

“… I am coming but just know that my bed is very comfy, so if you are annoying… I’ll just ditch you for it”.

“Ok, you are definitely a spoiled brat”.


End file.
